Chapter Nine

  When Gabriel saw the demon hovering outside Hope’s window, he didn’t hesitate, and launched himself from the wall of the rooftop garden. Wings unfurled, he was right behind the creature as it smashed through the glass in pursuit of Hope, who was screaming in mindless panic as she bolted from the room. He had the element of surprise on his side, and hit the sulphurous, blackened beast with his full body weight, pinning it against a far wall before it knew what hit it.

  The demon fought him, throwing itself backward, thrashing, flapping its wings, and raking viciously at him with blackened claws. It made no sound, but was no less dangerous for its silence; it was a Dronai, a soldier, and having no will of its own, needed no voice. Gabriel held tight as it writhed and thrashed, whipping its serpentine tail in every direction. A nearby lamp was knocked to the floor, as were several tables and the chair beside the couch. The cheerful, sunny living room Gabe had enjoyed earlier in the day became a battleground in the war between good and evil, its cozy furnishings the first casualties in a war Gabe had no intention of losing.

  He held on, countering the creature’s every move, letting the abomination know his strength as they grappled. It was a minor demon only, and no match for an archangel. He could’ve killed it easily, letting the Light within him burn it to a crisp, but contented himself with proving his mastery, trapping its night black wings against its body as it weakened. Finally the creature stilled, quivering with unholy rage, powerless in his grip.

  “You will go back to the Darkness from whence you came,” Gabe ground out, in what passed for the demon’s ear, “and you will tell your master that the Archangel Gabriel has laid claim to this house. Should any more of your filthy, corrupt brethren attempt to enter, they shall meet the point of my sword.” And with that, he shoved the creature away. It twisted, turning on him like an adder, and earned a powerful blow to the face for its trouble. Stumbling back, it hit the far wall, where it slumped, glaring at him balefully. Gabriel brought his sword forth from nothingness, where it was always close at hand, and wielded it so that light gleamed along its razor-sharp edge.

  The demon cowered, shading its red eyes against the light, and seconds later it was gone, out the broken window, wings flapping soundlessly as it disappeared into the night.

  Gabe stepped to the window and watched it go, letting any of its brethren who might be hiding in the shadows see him, his snow white wings unfurled, the gleaming Sword of Righteousness in his hand. Both physically and symbolically, he staked his claim, and took Hope’s life—as well as her soul—into his hands.

  Murmuring the words of power that would set an invisible barrier over the window, Gabe used two fingers to inscribe it with his mark. Turning, he cast his hand over the entire apartment, using a soft gleam of light to claim every inch under his protection. The magical barrier he’d set in place wouldn’t stop a determined demon who wanted to get in, but it would definitely slow it down.

  Then he looked around at the destruction the demon had caused, his eyes narrowing at the sight of an open book, lying on the floor. Sheathing his sword back into nothingness, he bent, and picked it up.

  Scanning the pages, his heart sank.

  The Ars Goetia, the Howling Art, the secrets of which he himself had given to Solomon in those long-ago times when the war between Darkness and Light had been newly won; a way to prove the One’s mastery over the Dominion of Darkness, any time the King of the Jews chose to do so. Those pages, marked with names and symbols he couldn’t help but recognize, contained knowledge of the Black Arts not meant to be shared, and could prove disastrous in the wrong hands.

  Samael, Father of Lies, had told him the truth about Hope, for her possession of the book proved she’d already opened her heart to the Darkness.

  Surprised to find his disappointment so keen, Gabriel squared his shoulders yet again, for he was still resolved to save her, even if he had to save her from herself.

  “It’s all right, Hope. You can come out now.”

  A perfectly normal male voice, muffled but familiar, reached Hope’s ears as she lay huddled in the closet.

  Unsure, still terrified, she stayed quiet.

  The door to her closet opened, revealing her hiding place.

  “Gabriel?”

  He was surrounded by light. After her time in the dark closet she had to squint; the glow around his head and shoulders was blinding. “Are those . . . are those wings?”

  He reached down, offering both hands to help her to her feet. She gripped his fingers tightly, terrified, disbelieving, and he pulled her up easily.

  “Are you all right?” He looked rather fierce, different somehow, but she was in such shock that she hardly knew how to answer him.

  “Here, sit down.” He urged her gently toward the bed. She was trembling like a leaf, knees weak, so she did as he said.

  She was seeing things . . . she had to be seeing things . . .

  Covering her face with her hands, she took a deep breath. When she lowered them again, the glow she’d mistaken for wings was gone.

  “It’s all right,” Gabriel said. “You’re safe now.”

  She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

  “You don’t understand,” she told him, shooting looks toward the door. “There was a thing . . . it was a thing . . .” She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the word “demon.” “It came in through the window—”

  “A Dronai,” Gabriel said, “one of the lowest order of demons in Satan’s army. Soldier imps, little more than lizards with wings.”

  Stunned, she stared at him blankly. The bad B horror movie had just turned into an episode of The Twilight Zone. “What?” she asked faintly.

  “You invited it in when you read aloud from the Key,” Gabe told her grimly. “That was very foolish of you.”

  Her jaw sagged. He was right, of course he was right, but how did he know?

  “We have to get out of here.” Panic fluttered in her chest. She’d find out later how he knew so much; right now she just wanted to go someplace safe.

  Gabriel shook his head, clearly taking charge. “We’re safest here.”

  A quizzical meow announced Sherlock’s arrival on the scene. The cat leapt up on the bed, sniffed her briefly, then went straight to Gabriel, shamelessly seeking his attention.

  Gabriel stroked him, and he immediately began to purr. “You see?” Sherlock’s purr grew louder. “Your cat knows the creature’s gone,” he told her. “Listen to him.”

  She stared at him, willing her mind to go faster and her heart to slow down. A silence grew between them, growing increasingly more awkward.

  “How—” She blew out a breath, letting some of her tension go with it. “How do you know about the Key, about the d—” She still couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  “I know many things,” he said to her gently, “and I am not your enemy.”

  A stab of shame pierced her. Everything she’d accused him of earlier in the day was wrong. He really had come to look after her, even if she didn’t know why.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” she told him, not quite able to look him in the eye. “I didn’t know what would happen.”

  “Which time?” he asked. “In the living room, when you called up the demon, or when you made your original deal with the Devil?”

  Her eyes flew to his.

  His gaze was direct and matter-of-fact. He knew everything.

  She looked away, ashamed of herself.

  “You’ve made some bad choices, Hope.” Gabriel stood straighter, squaring his shoulders. “You’ve put your soul in peril,” he said, “and I’ve sworn myself your protector.”

  “You can’t protect me,” she whispered, shaking her head. Sherlock was in her lap now, and she scooped him up, needing the comfort of his warm, furry body. “Nobody can protect me.” She looked up at him from her seat on the bed, filled with a sense of the surreal. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Listen to me,” Gabe murmured. He took a seat next to her, and reached out a hand, cupping her face.

  It was a big hand, warm and strong. Hope wanted to lean into it, and never move.

  “I’m the Archangel Gabriel,” he told her, “and I will protect you from the Darkness.”

  Deep inside, Hope trembled. Was it possible? If demons existed—and she now knew they did—so too, then, must angels. The conclusion wasn’t all that far-fetched.

  And if anyone looked like a modern-day angel, Gabriel did. In some indefinable way, he radiated confidence and power.

  She stared into his eyes. Brown eyes, shot with gold. The kindness, the gentleness she’d sensed in him earlier were both still there, but so was a steeliness, a ruthlessness that she hadn’t detected earlier.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier, when I . . . when I was being so mean to you?”

  “Would you have believed me?”

  Deep inside, she was forced to admit that the answer was no. She wouldn’t have believed him.

  Gabriel shrugged. “We take human form often, coming and going as we please, rarely revealing our presence. We mingle, we watch, we do our best to inspire the good in people.”

  “We?”

  “The Darkness has its army, and so does the Light.”

  The Darkness had its army, all right—both the demons she’d seen, and the unseen ones, like the depression she’d fallen into after Charity’s disappearance. She should’ve gotten help for herself while she’d had the chance.

  “It’s too late,” she whispered, knowing in her heart that it was true. She was too far gone, too frightened of Sammy and what lay in store for her if she didn’t do as he asked.

  Despite Gabriel’s claim he would protect her—even if he were an angel—Hope had no faith in angels anymore, and could see no other solution.

  Chapter Ten

  “The solution is simple, darling.” Pandora stretched like a cat, basking in the sun. “The child needs a tutor. His studies shouldn’t interrupt your leisure time.” She was sunbathing, naked, on the deck of a private yacht. They were alone, the boat a tiny white speck in the vast blue waters of the Aegean. “He could use a companion, as well, someone his own age to play with.”

  Sammy turned his head, admiring Pandora’s ample curves, enhanced by the wearing of a large sapphire in her belly button. Even naked, the shamelessly wanton goddess could not forgo her bling.

  “I’ll admit that having a playmate can be fun,” he returned equably, “but it’s not as though children grow on trees in the Underworld. Their spirits are too pure for them to end up in my domain, and the ones that do, well”—his lip curled in an involuntary expression of dislike—“they are not the ones I want my own child spending time with.”

  “That ghoul you call a lieutenant is a useless companion for a boy his age . . . not a speck of spontaneity in him.”

  “I should hope not,” Sammy murmured dryly, returning his eyes to the sparkling blue water. “Spontaneity is not an attribute I expect among my legions. They are to obey, not take the initiative. I don’t want them to think for themselves.”

  “Is that what you want for Cain?” Pandora eyed him archly, and he was forced to admit that he didn’t.

  “The boy is chafing under your restrictions,” she told him, adjusting her Fendi sunglasses against the glare. “He needs a companion, someone his own age, with whom to run free.”

  Sammy frowned, remembering what happened the last time Cain had “run free.” He’d gotten lost, kidnapped, and nearly been turned to stone by a basilisk. “The child has no fear,” he told Pandora, “and I trust no one save Nyx with his safety.”

  “Then you must teach him fear, darling.” Pandora reached for her drink, tall and fruity, and sipped it through a straw. “Ah, ambrosia,” she murmured, after she’d swallowed. “You must have the sylphs of Circe give me the recipe.”

  Sammy answered her absently, his mind on the concept of fear. “The sylphs would never do that, my dear, and you know it. You’re far too generous in your curves, which they envy madly.”

  Pandora gave a throaty chuckle, and took another sip. “They do, don’t they?”

  “Why must I teach him fear?” Sammy’s mind was still on Cain. “Why would I want to crush the boy’s spirit?”

  “I said nothing about crushing his spirit, darling.” Pandora put her drink down and turned over, exposing the round globes of her bottom to the sun. Her breasts dangled like ripe fruit as she rested herself on her elbows. “The child must learn that actions have consequences, and children learn by example, not by rote. If you wish him to be more prudent about his safety, you must give him reason to be prudent.”

  Sammy’s Ray-Bans hid his expression, but Pandora smiled, knowing she had his attention, in more ways than one.

  “I’m not sure I should be taking parental advice from you, my delightful Pandora,” he said, reaching out a finger to trace the line of her shoulder, plump and warm. “You’re one of the least prudent, and least motherly, women I’ve ever known.”

  She laughed, genuinely delighted. “Thank you, Majesty.” Tiny bells, worn on an anklet, tinkled as she kicked her feet, wiggling her toes rapturously.

  “In fact,” Sammy went on, his voice shifting to a lower timbre, “I’m quite certain I could never fuck anyone’s mother the way I’m about to fuck you.”

  Pandora’s generous lips curled into an entirely different kind of smile. “Please do, my prince. Please do.”

  And there, between the blue of the heavens and the blue of the sea, Sammy slaked himself once again on warm, female flesh. The smooth skin of Pandora’s back became a playground for his lips and tongue, the rounded globes of her ass delectable targets for wicked nips from his teeth. He teased her with his body, crushing his naked loins against her, letting her feel the hard length of his cock. Mercilessly, sensually, he rubbed his hardness all over her softness, all the while withholding its entrance to her body.

  Pandora gasped her pleasure at every turn, her mews of delight turning to those of mock frustration as he kept her pinned on her belly, leaving her hands unable to reach him.

  Aroused, Sammy trailed his kisses and nips to the back of her neck, laying his full body weight upon her hips. His hands came around her, grasping her breasts. He squeezed and fondled them as he bit her neck, hands full of luscious flesh and nose full of the sun-warmed scent of flushed skin.

  And in the end, he took Pandora from behind, slipping into her heated femininity and surging against it, time and again, as she cried out her pleasure, moaning against the cushions of her lounge chair.

  When it was over, Sammy rolled to lie flat on his back. Beside him, a beautiful woman lay exhausted and well satisfied, while he . . . he stared up at the vaulted blue sky, and wondered if the satisfaction he felt in that moment would ever be enough.

  Later, as Nyx gave him a report of Cain’s activities during his absence, he had reason to recall Pandora’s parental advice.

  “The boy truly is the spawn of Satan,” Nyx told him, with a long-suffering shake of his shadowed head. “If he were mine, I’d have him beaten.” The blunt opinion demonstrated a familiarity Sammy would never have allowed anyone else.

  “What’s he done now?” snapped the High Prince of Darkness, irritated at how the thought of punishing Cain annoyed him.

  “He set fire to his own bedding with the Crystal of Khartoum,” Nyx told him, “and then escaped like an eel as I put out the flames. He was gone for several hours, and when he came back, he reeked of brimstone.”

  “And how did he get the Crystal of Khartoum?” asked Sammy, with exquisite politeness. He kept all his magical treasures in one place, and it was a place no one was allowed to enter without his sanction.

  “He raided the treasure room when he was supposed to be bathing,” Nyx answered flatly.

  Sammy gave his second-in-command a dire look. “You were supposed to be watching him.”

  Nyx drew himself up stiffly, a soldier, ready to take his punishment. “I’m not a wet nurse, my lord.” His wingtips quivered, whether trepidation or outrage, Sammy couldn’t say. “During his bath, I left him in the care of the water nymphs, who were pleased to be of service.”

  “I’ll bet they were,” Sammy murmured, not entirely thrilled with the idea of the amoral, aquatic nymphs cavorting unsupervised with his son. They knew Satan for their master, it was true, but that would not stop them from teasing an impressionable young princeling with their sloe-eyed, dripping beauty. Or, apparently, being taken in by his childish charm. “Where is Cain now?”

  “I confined him once again to his room, Great Shaitan. I knew you would want to deal with his disobedience immediately.”

  “That I do,” Sammy agreed grimly. He strode toward the door, on the way to his son’s room. “Fetch me the imp known as Tesla.”

  Nyx disappeared like smoke, but Sammy walked, hearing his footsteps echo coldly against hallways of stone. He’d always taken perverse pleasure in his home—an ancient temple, hidden in plain sight by magic that had endured through thousands of years, and would endure for thousands more, but for the first time, he saw it as a child might see it, and found it coldly imposing.

  Just as it should be, he reminded himself.

  When he opened the door to Cain’s room, he expected defiance, and wasn’t disappointed.

  “I hate you,” the boy shouted, just as a pillow hit him in the face.

  Completely taken aback, Sammy froze, giving Cain time to leap from the bed and charge him. Almost immediately, the boy realized whom he was facing, and froze as well.

  “Father!” Cain was clearly stricken. “I didn’t mean to hit you . . . I didn’t know it was you! I thought it was—”

  The boy broke off, the expression on the face of His Satanic Majesty obviously a bit too much for one of even his great courage.

 

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